


You Don't Have To (but I like that you do)

by ShadowsOffense



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Anal Fingering, Angst, Angst and Porn, Blooming Rose, F/F, F/M, Prompt Fill, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-19
Updated: 2013-11-19
Packaged: 2018-01-02 01:29:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1050939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowsOffense/pseuds/ShadowsOffense
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PWP and angst.</p>
<p>Hawke works at the Blooming Rose anonymously.  Isabela goes there a lot.  But just for sex.  She's not attached, she just can't stop herself from developing something of a routine.  Because its really good sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Don't Have To (but I like that you do)

The reason Isabela doesn’t just get a room at the Rose (she’s there so often, why bother with the Hanged Man, really?) is so that each time she can get a _different_ room. The fact that she’s shutting a very familiar door behind her for the _second_ time this week (just like last week and the week before) is rather missing the _point_.

She’s annoyed with herself right up until the figure standing by the window turns and Isabela finds herself pinned by two unbelievably blue eyes. Her mouth dries out. Maker. She’s already wet.

“Captain,” the woman’s voice is rich and welcoming, but its true timbre is disguised by a rolling Starkhaven accent. Or, at least, Isabela suspects the accent is a disguise. (If only Sebastian _knew_ ).

_Hello Hawke,_ Isabela greets the woman silently. “Mask,” she uses the whore’s title aloud. It’s not even a ‘stage’ name like the other women have, it really is a title (as well as a description). Five nights out of the week Mask is a _different_ woman than the one standing before her (a man sometimes, actually). Isabela had assumed (in passing, Mask had never been a favorite of hers, before) that they were all the Rose’s regular working girls. Now she wonders if there are other nobles sharing Hawke’s secret. Well, she’s not wondering _right_ now, just in general. Right now, there is a much more important question she wants answered. Isabela sets a hand on her hip and rests her opposing shoulder against the door, deceptively casual, a slight motion of her throat as she swallows giving her away. “Have you done as I’ve asked?” she inquires with feigned nonchalance.

“Yes Captain.”

Isabela suppresses a shiver. “Show me,” her words are practically a growl.

The other woman steps away from the window, the room’s lanterns catching on the feathers that shield nearly all of her face (and also tickle _wonderfully_ ), but Isabela’s attention is drawn to the robe that is too thin to be decent, but not quiet sheer enough to be non existent. It’s a warm peach in color, going well with the other woman’s pale skin, deepening barely visible nipples to an orangey red and letting the dark hair between her legs show up a little better through the fabric. Mask walks slowly, hips swaying, until she’s just in front of Isabela. Then she turns her back, looking over her shoulder to keep eye contact with the pirate, and slides the robe down her shoulders to the floor.

Mask’s legs are slightly parted and Isabela reaches out a hand to stroke to soft skin, trailing from the small of her back to down between her cheeks. She presses one finger lightly into Mask’s still slightly loose asshole, feeling the half-dry seed. Its policy at the Rose that whores wash themselves between costumers, but Isabela wanted proof. Proof that Hawke was really....

It _was_ Hawke, wasn’t it? Isabela feels herself frown slightly in self doubt as she pushes her finger further into the woman, drawing a small sound from Mask. Her hips tilt into the pirate’s hand, urging Isabela deeper.

The body was right, the movement, those things were not so easily disguised as face and voice and hair (the right color, but long and curly and why didn’t Hawke grow her own hair out?). It _was_ Hawke. Hawke, rocking herself back against Isabela’s hand. Hawke, with a man’s seed still drying on her thighs and ass. “Good girl,” Isabela praises.

Hawke groans in response, thinking Isabela is referring to her obedience. “Would you like me to wash myself now, Captain?” Hawke asks, her voice huskier that it was just a moment ago. Her legs are tense; it’s obvious how much of a struggle it is for her not to go faster and _really_ fuck herself on Isabela’s finger.

Uncharacteristically, Isabela hesitates, unsure why Hawke had asked. It had been on the tip of Isabela’s tongue to ask _who_ it had been (foolish really, the Rose had a very strict privacy policy), wanting to _know_ , to really have been able to visualize the way Hawke’s flesh parted before real cock, and to picture the expression of bliss when he had felt how magnificently tight she was (Isabela already knows the look Hawke gets when she’s filled, the way her eye’s glaze behind the mask and her lips part). The point is, Isabela had wanted to _be there_ , not just feel the evidence second hand. Maybe have Hawke eat her out while she watched, if they could get the angles right to avoid interfering with Isabela’s view. Now something unpleasant has settled into her stomach along with Hawke’s question.

It’s obvious neither of them are ashamed by any of this. So why had Hawke asked?

And why is she thinking about saying yes? There is _something_ in all of this, but Isabela shoves it away. “No,” she growls in Hawke’s ear, twisting a second finger in beside the first, making Hawke cry out. “I like you like this, dirty, used...” _wild, fun._ Isabela does like Hawke like this, she’s never once been tempted to pay for a whole night. What would be the good of that?

She spins them so that Hawke is pressed up against the door and uses her body to pin Hawke in place. She works Hawke until her ass will accept a third finger and Hawke’s hands clench reflexively as Isabela enters her with it. They pause for a moment, Hawke tight, too tight for Isabela to keep moving (she’s not in the mood for rough tonight).

Finally, Hawke flexes her hips lightly. “Please Captain,” she gasps as her body slowly relaxes. There are no awkward questions now (except, maybe, in Isabela’s own head). Hawke’s flesh is stretched around her fingers, her hips moving, gently drawing Isabela in and out as much as she can, but Isabela is in charge and Hawke won’t be able to really move until Isabela lets her. She takes her time, enjoying the way Hawke moans and pleas and wriggles and struggles playfully against the hold. Then a bit more desperately.

Isabela can still feel the man’s seed, here, inside Hawke. Maybe she should pay for a threesome some time; get Jethann, or Katryna, or one of the others and take the night. She can afford it, easily (does Hawke know it’s her own coin Isabela pays with? Is this why she keeps loosing at Wicked Grace? Does she know Isabela knows?). But, somehow, buying it would remove so much of the enjoyment of it all. Hawke is such a flirt, such a tease, it would be such _fun_ to take her out and pick someone to share together. 

Isabela isn’t making any sense. Her fingers are inside Hawke and Hawke jerks back against her, trying to move, get enough to get off. What is Isabela doing, letting her mind wander during something like sex? Good sex. Really good sex. Hawke moves so wonderfully against her. Isabela shifts, gives Hawke space to move while reaching her other hand around to finger her clit.

She wants Hawke’s tongue on her next. She can’t think with Hawke’s tongue on her and that’s reason enough to keep coming back, to keep coming. Who needs to think anyway? That should be enough of a point for anyone.


End file.
